by Richard Fox
Mukhtar nodded.
“No English,” Ritter commanded. His prisoner nodded again.
Captain Shelton was waiting for them near a decrepit farmhouse. Soldiers from Dragon Company formed a perimeter around the house and pushed beyond to the dirt fields, which had once grown wheat and corn. A female Soldier standing near Shelton held a thin German shepherd by a leash.
“Eric? There had better be a goddamn good reason to have us back on the wrong side of the river,” Shelton said.
“This source claims he knows where O’Neal and Brown are,” Ritter said.
Shelton nodded slowly. “We searched the farmhouse, but we didn’t find them.” Shelton knew that if the source was telling the truth, there was only one fate remaining for his missing men.
“Where are they? If you’re lying, then the clock starts again, and they owe me for nine hours,” Ritter said to Mukhtar in Arabic.
Mukhtar pointed to a bread oven next to the farmhouse. The bread oven was little more than a mud-kiln cylinder, a three-foot-tall nozzle extending from the ground. Iraqis would burn fuel in the bottom of the oven and slap leavened dough against the side to cook, then pull the cooked na’an flatbread from the sides. It was a thousand-year-old design that still worked perfectly well in modern days.
“In there?” Ritter asked.
“No, twenty-eight steps to the south of the oven,” he said.
Ritter pushed Mukhtar toward the oven. “Go. We’re not going to walk into an IED if you’re lying.”
Mukhtar took a few tentative steps toward the oven, then quickened his pace.
“What’s with the mask?” Shelton asked.
“If we’re being watched, we don’t want to burn the source,” Ritter said. They watched as Mukhtar touched the oven and turned south. He counted out twenty-seven steps before Mukhtar stopped at the edge of a line of dead reeds. Mukhtar pointed to the ground.
“Goddamn it,” Shelton said.
The dog handler left without any prompting, encouraging her cadaver dog with a few clicks of her tongue. The dog sniffed at the ground leading up to Mukhtar’s position. The dog sniffed deeply before snorting; the exhalation blew a small tuft of dust into the air. The dog sat down right in front of Mukhtar.
“Sir,” the handler called, “my partner found something.”
Shelton picked up a shovel and ran.
It took ten minutes of careful digging to uncover the bodies. Brown and O’Neal were each wrapped in a blanket, their booted feet protruding from their makeshift burial shawls. Each Soldier had a dog tag interwoven in his bootlaces, which was how Shelton first identified the bodies.
Dragon Soldiers peered over from their positions surrounding the gravesite. They struck Ritter as relieved—relieved that the search had ended, no matter the outcome.
“They were badly injured in the attack. For all my planning, I never thought to bring a medic. They bled to death as I drove through Owesat, and I buried them here,” Mukhtar said.
“Shut up,” Ritter said.
Shelton, tears cutting through the dust that covered his face, walked up and shook Mukhtar’s hand. Ritter wanted to protest the gesture but couldn’t. Mukhtar’s ski mask spread in a grin.
“Thank you. Thank you for bringing my men back to me,” Shelton said.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” Mukhtar said.
“I told you to shut up.”
“What’s he saying?” Shelton asked.
“We have to go.” Ritter grabbed Mukhtar and shoved him toward their waiting helicopter.
“What else doesn’t he know? Does he know you’re CIA? Does he know what you did to Badia?”
“You have more important things to worry about right now,” Ritter said as he removed the deadly jewelry from Mukhtar’s neck.
Mukhtar stopped as they crossed beneath the blades of the helicopter. “What will you do to me now? What about my family?”
“You, old friend, are no longer of any intelligence value.”
Mukhtar couldn’t see. Ritter had twisted the ski mask around and replaced his sunglasses with blackened goggles. The helicopter sat down, the return flight not even half as long as the flight from the interrogation room in the Green Zone. Instead of a helping hand out of the helicopter, Carlos shoved Mukhtar out the door. He crashed to the ground, the impact forcing the air from his lungs.
Several pairs of hands brought him back to his feet and propelled him forward. He heard a growing chorus of Arabic shouts and threats as he moved away from the helicopter. An unseen hand slapped him across the face hard enough for him to see stars.
“Al-Qaeda dog!” someone yelled.
The hood was ripped away, and Abu Ahmet’s smiling face greeted Mukhtar. He was surrounded by Abu Ahmet’s tribesmen, who hurled insults and reached out to strike him every chance they had.
“Eric! Eric, what about my family?” Mukhtar screamed in English as Abu Ahmet and Theeb manhandled him toward a wooden crate resting in the gray dirt. Mukhtar spun out of the Iraqis’ grip and saw Ritter waiting behind the crowd, his arms crossed.
“I did everything you asked! Let them go, please!” he begged.
A fist smashed into his stomach, doubling him over. Someone carried him to the crate and laid him on top of it, his chest down and his head jutting over the edge.
“Eric, they’re innocent! Tell me you won’t hurt them!”
A shadow fell over him.
“Eric!”
Abu Ahmet raised his machete over his head, then looked to Ritter. Ritter nodded.
The machete sliced through the air and made it through half of Mukhtar’s neck. Abu Ahmet wrenched the blade free and finished the job with the next blow. The Iraqis cheered as Abu Ahmet held the severed head into the air.
Abu Ahmet carried the head to a waiting grave and tossed it inside. The rest of the body wasn’t far behind. Abu Ahmet dropped the bloody machete and ran to catch up with Ritter, who was returning to his helicopter.
“My friend, I can’t thank you enough. My tribe has its honor, and we are forever in your debt,” he said.
“I’m glad to hear that. I have another payment waiting for you,” Ritter said.
“And I’m glad to hear that. Friendship is great, but cash is king, even in Iraq.” The Iraqi winked at Ritter.
“I’ll send you the location in the morning. Only you will pick it up. Understand?” Ritter said.
“Yes, naturally. Is there a bonus?”
A wolfish smile spread across Ritter’s mouth. “Yes, there’s a bonus for you.”
Chapter 28
Abu Ahmet and Theeb watched the chicken coop where Ritter said their payment was waiting for them. After half an hour of surveillance, they were sure no one else was waiting for them. Abu Ahmet may have been a greedy man, but he was patient, and he wasn’t stupid.
“OK, let’s go,” Abu Ahmet said.
The pair circled around the coop before Theeb took up his guard position outside the only door as Abu Ahmet went inside, a canvas sack over his shoulder. Theeb lit a cigarette and took out his cell phone. He wanted to watch the video one more time before he deleted it forever.
“Ah, Theeb, this one is damn heavy!” Abu Ahmet said from inside.
“Just open it and fill the bag. We can make more than one trip to the truck,” Theeb said.
“Might as well,” Abu Ahmet said.
Ritter stood outside the command post, waiting for two things to happen. A distant explosion washed over the patrol base. He smiled as the thunderclap reverberated across the countryside. A few seconds later, the satellite phone in his hand vibrated.
“It is done,” Shannon said.
“Good,” Ritter said. Is that all I can say? Ritter thought. Abu Ahmet is dead, Jennifer is avenged, and all I can think to say is “good”?
“Are you ready to come in from the cold?” Shannon asked.
“Yes.”
“Your Army affiliation will be done forever. Let me be clear on that.”
“I k
now.”
“Pack up. We’ll have your extraction there in half an hour. You’ll sign some transfer paper work at your brigade headquarters for backstop purposes. After that, we need you in Mosul.”
“Half an hour.”
The call ended, and Ritter walked to the burn pit. He snapped the satellite phone in half and tossed it into the pit.
“Captain Ritter!” Someone yelled from the command post. Lieutenant Park, wearing shorts and a T-shirt under his body armor, came out of the command post to find Ritter. “Sir, did you hear that?”
“I did.”
“All our elements outside the wire called in. No problem. Captain Shelton called in and wants you to call Abu Ahmet. See if any of his people know what that explosion was,” he said.
Ritter pressed his lips together. Abu Ahmet knew exactly what the explosion was, but that wasn’t something he could tell the executive officer.
“Sure, I’ll give him a call.”
Shelton picked through the remains of the chicken coop. The lack of feathers gave him a clue that all the flesh smeared over the bricks didn’t belong to chickens. They hadn’t found any body parts larger than a finger to identify who was at the epicenter of the explosion, which had left a crater a foot deep and four feet wide.
“Ah, gross!” someone yelled from the shattered-and-bent truck parked near the crater. Shelton saw Kovalenko poking at something in the bed of his truck with the tip of his rifle. Then he picked up a cell phone. Kovalenko held the phone by the antenna nub as he poked at the numbers.
“Let me see that,” Shelton said and took the phone. He saw a severed hand in the truck bed. The cell phone might tell him who died in this explosion.
The cell phone still worked; a grainy video was ready to play on the display screen. He watched the video, thinking it was another Iraqi snuff film insurgents traded like baseball cards. He turned the volume up and couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Sir, isn’t Captain Ritter’s first name Eric?” Kovalenko asked.
Shelton rewound the video and froze it when the screen caught a man wearing an Army combat uniform. He hit “play” and watched as Abu Ahmet beheaded a man who had begged Ritter to take care of his family.
“Mount up! We’re heading back to Dragon now!” Shelton yelled. Ritter had some questions to answer.
Davis took the photographs of O’Neal and Brown from under a placard reading “Missing” and moved them to the wall for the dead. DNA and dental records confirmed that O’Neal and Brown were the two men Dragon Company had found buried in the desert.
She looked down the long line of photos, her eyes lingering over Jennifer Mattingly’s picture, which was so close to the new additions. She hated this new duty; hopefully this would be the last time she had to do this. Wishful thinking, she knew.
Two Soldiers walked behind her. The first, a lumpy sergeant from the personnel section, said, “It doesn’t make any sense. He’s leaving without any award or an evaluation, and the transfer code is something I’ve never seen before.”
The second Soldier said, “I know. He wouldn’t tell me anything either. You’d think after all the stuff he did in Owesat that he’d at least get a certificate of appreciation or something.”
There was only one person they could be talking about, and he hadn’t returned her e-mails in days.
“Hey, are you talking about Captain Ritter?” she asked.
“Roger, ma’am. I just dropped him off at the LZ with all his gear. He said his ride was coming for him,” the second Soldier said.
“Excuse me,” Davis said as she made her way to the exit. The LZ was a ten-minute walk or a five-minute run in combat boots.
She reached the exit door right as it burst open. A dirty and agitated Captain Shelton almost barreled past her. He did a double take when he saw her, then asked, “Where’s Ritter?”
Ritter sat against a concrete barrier, his worldly goods boiled down to a duffel bag full of underclothes and workout gear resting next to him. He’d returned all his Army equipment to the supply office; his body and spirit felt much lighter.
He checked his watch again; only a few more minutes until his extraction from the Army. He felt guilty for leaving without giving proper good-byes to Shelton and the rest of Dragon. They wouldn’t understand why he’d left even if he could shake hands one last time. He considered finding Davis, but there was nothing he could do for them. Once he returned to the Caliban Program, any relationship would be impossible. Better this way, he told himself.
He heard the rumble of a Humvee over gravel and stood up. Shelton’s Humvee was heading right for him.
“Ah hell. This can’t be good,” he muttered. He didn’t have a cover story for his sudden departure.
The Humvee stopped fifty yards away. Shelton got out and walked to Ritter, a purpose to his step. Kovalenko and Davis got out and stayed with the Humvee.
Why is she here? Ritter thought.
“Eric,” Shelton said.
“Greg, sorry I left in such a hurry. When Big Army says move, you—”
Shelton held up the cell phone and hit “play” on the video.
Ritter let the video play out for a minute as he considered his options.
“Eric, tell me this isn’t what I think it is. Tell me you didn’t give the source to Abu Ahmet to be murdered. Tell me you didn’t kill Abu Ahmet to cover this up. Tell me what the hell is going on here,” Shelton pleaded with his old friend. He begged Ritter to come clean and set this whole mess right.
Instead, Ritter said, “I’m going to need that cell phone.”
Without a second thought, Shelton lashed out and struck Ritter across the face. The blow spun Ritter around and sent him to the ground.
“Goddamn you, Eric! What have you done?”
Ritter gathered a handful of sand into his fist and pushed himself to his knees. He kept the dirt hidden from Shelton’s view until he spun around and flung it into Shelton’s face as he stood up. Shelton sputtered as the sand invaded his eyes and mouth. He didn’t see Ritter’s kick, which smashed into his gut. The cell phone flew from Shelton’s hand and clattered against the concrete barrier.
Shelton roared and charged his old friend. Ritter grabbed Shelton by his uniform and snapped his hips under Shelton’s waist. Then he used Shelton’s forward momentum to slam him to the ground. Ritter kept a grip on Shelton’s blouse as he pounded his fist into his face once, twice, three times. Shelton went slack, and Ritter dropped him to the ground.
Shelton groaned as he rolled onto all fours. He looked up and saw Ritter dismantling the cell phone. He tossed the battery to the side, pulled the small SIM card from the cell, and snapped it in half. Then he pocketed the pieces.
“Why? Tell me why,” Shelton said.
“Because it was the only way! Because if you knew the truth, your high-minded sense of honor would have made it impossible to get Brown and O’Neal back,” Ritter spat.
“No, there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to get them back.” Shelton pulled himself to his feet, his head throbbing from Ritter’s beating. He brought his hands up to fight.
“The IED that killed Captain Jennifer Mattingly and two other Soldiers—you remember that? That was Abu Ahmet’s work. He killed Lieutenant Oberth too,” Ritter said.
Shelton looked at Ritter in disbelief. “No, that’s impossible.” His hands lowered to his waist.
“The Saudi kept detailed records, and he laid it all out for me after I smashed his fingers to pulp. What would you have done if you knew the truth?”
Shelton’s face shook with fury. “I would have arrested him! If he had blood on his hands, then he had to pay for it!”
“Exactly. You were an obstacle to our success. I kept the truth from you, yes. Because if you knew the truth, it would have destroyed all our cooperation with the Qarghulis. We wouldn’t have Brown and O’Neal back. We wouldn’t have captured Mukhtar or been able to get rid of him so conveniently,” Ritter said.
“Wait. Mu
khtar?”
“The source that led us to the bodies, the man beheaded on the video…That was Mukhtar. He killed nine of your men, and if it was up to you, he would have stood trial and sat in an Iraqi jail for a few years. I got justice for them! Not you!”
Shelton’s mind swam with the admission. “Eric...you let me shake his goddamn hand!”
Ritter shrugged. “What should I have done?”
“Eric, you’re an officer in the United States Army. We…we don’t do these things. Murder? Torture? The lies?” Shelton touched his US Army tape on his uniform. “That’s not what we do!”
“You’re right. That’s not what you do. You do things for duty and honor. Spare me!” Ritter ripped his US Army tape from his blouse and tossed it into the dirt. His captain’s rank followed a moment later. “If I did things your way, we would have never found them. They’d rot in the desert, and their families would never know what happened. I brought them home. I did! I did it by freeing myself from honor.”
“You think you can outrun duty? Or honor? You’re wrong, Eric. I will shine a spotlight on what you’ve done,” Shelton said.
“No, you won’t. And the reason is right over there.” Ritter pointed at Kovalenko, Davis, and Greely, who watched the argument from the Humvee. “Go ahead. Tell the truth to Sheikh Abdullah. Tell him I killed Abu Ahmet and Theeb. Good luck surviving the drive back to the patrol base after you start a new blood feud between you and the Qarghuli tribe. The truth will get your men killed.” Ritter let his statement sink in.
Shelton pointed a finger at Ritter and opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out.
“That’s right—an IED on every road and a mortar attack every night. Or you keep your mouth shut, and there won’t be another face on the wall. Your choice. Think your chain of command will see things your way? Every field-grade officer from major to colonel is terrified about their careers, careers that will be ruined if they poke their noses into this. They have their missing men back. They’ve saved face from the embarrassment of losing them. They’ve ‘won.’ They won’t jeopardize that.” Ritter turned his head and saw a distant helicopter on approach.